Then you'll know what, then you'll know, what 'tis I mean.
He. However, lose not present bliss,
But now we're alone, let's kiss:
But now we're alone let's kiss, let's kiss.
She. My Breasts do so heave, so heave, so heave,
He. My Heart does so pant, pant, pant;
She. There's Something, something, something more we want,
There's Something, something, something more we want.
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The Happy Country Gentleman; a New Song.
The Words made to a pretty Italian Air:
Sung by Nicolini, in the opera of Rinaldo.
Il tricerbero humiliato, &c.
ALL the World's in Strife and hurry,
And the Lord knows when 'twill cease;
Some for Interest, some for Glory,
Tho' their Tongues run all of Peace:
Since the High-Church then and Low,
Make our daily Mischiefs grow,
And the Great, who sit at the Helm in doubt,
Are not sure, how quickly they may turn out:
How blest is the happy he,
Who from Town, and the Faction that is there, is free;
For Love and no ill ends,
Treats his Neighbours and his Friends,
He shall ever in the Book of Fame,
Fix with Honour a glorious Name.
He that was the High Purse-bearer,
At his Levy no Crowds you see;
